


midnight tea

by Chamomile



Series: unburnt fires [1]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/F, Hurt No Comfort, Post-Timeskip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-07-31 14:24:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20116552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chamomile/pseuds/Chamomile
Summary: The monastery is swept up in rumors one winter, when the skies are greyer than they have ever been and no brigand would dare attempt to invade or defile the Empire-occupied ruins. Those brave enough to speak the rumors did so in bright crowds and lit corners of the monastery—places even Hubert would not dare tread, for if he did, that would only prove the tales true.“They say the emperor’s been speaking with the ghosts of the monastery,” a soldier whispers.





	midnight tea

The monastery is swept up in rumors one winter, when the skies are greyer than they have ever been and no brigand would dare attempt to invade or defile the Empire-occupied ruins. 

Those brave enough to speak the rumors did so in bright crowds and lit corners of the monastery—places even Hubert would not dare tread, for if he did, that would only prove the tales true.

“They say the emperor’s been speaking with the ghosts of the monastery,” a soldier whispers.

“Is that why she looks like she hasn’t slept at all this month?” asks a merchant.

“Oh, undoubtedly,” nods the soldier, “I just hope the woman doesn’t go mad before the war ends. If_ she _loses her mind, Fódlan may never see another day of peace in our lifetimes.”

“In Her Majesty’s defense,” shrugs the merchant, “I have heard King Dimitri is no better off than she, and if the other merchants tell it true, the Alliance’s leadership is on its last limbs, as well. Only the goddess knows what that means for us common folk...if there really is one at all.”

The two shake hands on a deal not long after their idle conversation, and the merchant makes a sale on a brand-new spear. The soldier loses himself in the crowds of morning shoppers and conversation, while the merchant continues to sell his wares.

Yet neither of them ever noticed Petra there, browsing the same merchant’s stock for supplies.

* * *

“I am not wanting to believe what the people are saying,” Petra sighs, her hands gently wrapped around an old teacup, “but Lady Edelgard does seem…different, lately. Are you noticing it too, Dorothea?”

“It’s hard not to, honestly,” Dorothea takes a sip of the sweet apple tea…or what was supposed to be, anyway. This particular blend is surprisingly bitter, and she wonders poetically if the conversation’s sour turn was to blame.

“Edie’s…having a rough time,” the songstress adds, “She always has trouble this time of year.”

“Why is it that no one has ever talked to her about this rumor?” Petra’s brow furrows, “If there is something inside—er, _on _her mind, would it not make her worriedness go away if she were to be talking to someone?”

“If only it were that simple,” Dorothea smiled, though her eyes still spoke of sadness from Petra’s point of view, “If you ask me…we’ve all been too afraid. Not even Hubie’s brought it up to her yet. He says he doesn’t want to interfere. Says she needs her ‘moments,’ but I think he’s just as afraid as everyone else, deep down.”

“Perhaps Linhardt knows a way to help her sleep,” Petra’s eyes glow slightly, “Linhardt is good at sleeping.”

Dorothea laughs a little laugh. Petra’s ideas were always so innocent and charming, despite the difficulties that seem to plague them all in the wintertime.

They do not know that Linhardt is sleepily passing by the common room, his ears perked up upon the mention of his own name.

* * *

“As much as I’d like to help Edelgard, I think we can safely say that the three of us are the _last _people she’d want to speak with about her troubles,” Linhardt says, turning the page on one of the open books laid out on the table.

“Hey!” Bernadetta crosses her arms and nearly yells, covering her mouth as she realizes her volume is not particularly suitable for the library. She argues back, albeit in a much more hushed tone, “M-Maybe that’s not true! Maybe she’s…waiting for us to speak up! Because we don’t usually, you know?”

“…Says the girl who thinks she’s gonna get killed every time Edelgard tells her to leave her room,” Caspar brings his head up from the table and rolls his eyes.

“She’s _very _intimidating!” Bernadetta pouts, “P-Please don’t tell her I said that, though.”

“As if she’d even have the energy to care about that sort of thing now,” Caspar grumbles, “She’s been running on, what, an hour of sleep a night at best? No wonder she keeps seeing ghosts.”

“Ugh…” Linhardt shivers at the thought, “I think I’d die before choosing to live like she does. Caspar_ is_ right, though—sleep deprivation is said to cause such symptoms as hallucinations. It’s quite likely she’s been seeing shadows of people or things that aren’t really there.”

“So they’re…not ghosts?” Bernadetta blinks.

“No… Not in the way you’re imagining them, at least.”

“Who d’you think she sees?” Caspar asks, horrified, yet intrigued.

“Who _else _would she hallucinate up at this time of year?”

“Oh…” Bernadetta nodded, “The professor, right? I…guess I don’t blame her.”

“Oh, yeah,” Caspar’s expression turned gloomy, “It’s hard to believe it’s been nearly four years since Professor Byleth disappeared.”

“I miss her a lot, too,” Bernadetta turns her gaze to the floor, fighting away a tear or two, “She was the one who taught me that it was okay to be outside and be with people when I can handle it…”

“Her absence plagues Edelgard this time of year…every year,” Linhardt explains, “It’s just gotten progressively worse over time.”

“At least last year we were able to cheer her up and get her to eat again by putting Hubert in that apron,” chuckles Caspar, reminiscing, “This year, though? I don’t know if we can top that.”

“No, and I don’t think we can _afford _that again,” Linhardt grimaced, “I was forced to give Hubert some of the rarest tomes in my collection just so we could get him to cook Edelgard that meal.”

“It was really fun, though!” Bernadetta chuckled, “Hubert looks a lot less scary when he’s in a frilly apron, and he’s not a bad cook, either! I had the courage to talk to him for a whole _hour _that day!”

“So…how come we can’t just get Hubert to talk to Edelgard this time around?” Caspar wonders aloud, “They tell each other pretty much everything, don’t they? If it’s that serious, you’d think he’d be the first to step up.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Linhardt closes his book, realizing this conversation might take some time to get through with his current company, “I’ve a hypothesis, myself. I don’t think Hubert’s taken up the task of talking with Edelgard because he’s afraid of what he might see.”

“But I thought you said only Edelgard could see the ghosts?” Bernadetta asks.

“I mean that in the more metaphorical sense,” says Linhardt, “It’s no secret that Edelgard was more or less infatuated with Professor Byleth. Do you not think that would stir Hubert’s ire?”

“Now that you put it that way… You’ve got a point,” Caspar admits, “Guess it’s tough for him to see Edelgard losing sleep over someone who’s too far gone for even Hubert to, y’know. Do away with. Or whatever he does.”

“Hubert’s…afraid of the professor?” Bernadetta gazes wide-eyed at Linhardt, “I didn’t think he could be afraid of anything.”

“More like he’d prefer not to speak with Edelgard about the object of her affections,” Linhardt tells them, “Perhaps he doesn’t want to make things worse. For all of our sakes.”

“Can we all really wait this out, though?” Caspar scratches his chin, “We’ve kinda got a war on our hands, and Edelgard’s the best hope we have of winning. If she keeps on brooding like this…”

“It won’t be good for anyone, yes,” Linhardt nods, “But unless Hubert chooses to act, we are in no place to simply tell Edelgard to cheer up. All of us have been positively impacted by the professor…Edelgard most of all. She may just have to take the time to acknowledge what we already have—that Professor Byleth is most likely dead.”

“I still think she’s out there, somewhere…” Bernadetta says, “She’d never just die on us like that.”

“I want to believe too, but…” Caspar pauses, “I feel like she would have come back by now.”

“As do I,” Linhardt takes the few books he was browsing and shoves them to the side, “…By the way, Caspar, what are you even doing here, anyway? It’s rare to see you in the library. I guarantee you, the books are not the most…comfortable pillows if your goal was a nap.”

“Well, uh…” Caspar answered blankly, “I…kind of forget? But I saw you two here, so I figured something was going on. Everybody keeps talking about this thing with Edelgard, and I just…feel helpless, I guess. She’s working harder than anybody else to keep it together, and we can’t do anything? It just doesn’t sit right with me!”

“How do you forget why you came to the library?” Bernadetta couldn’t help but smile. Caspar, however, was not particularly pleased, and his threats (while in jest) still prompted Bernadetta to beg for her life, and the trio nearly dashed out of the silent library, the two young men chasing (or, in Linhardt’s case, leisurely walking) after Bernadetta to ease her worries.

Neither of them ever sensed Hubert’s presence in the library’s darkest corners. He put the book he was reading right back on the shelf, his expression grim as he made his way towards the hallways that were once the second floor dorms.

* * *

Nightfall was fast approaching, and the monastery grows even quieter as the armies pack up and return to their quarters for the evening. At night, Edelgard knows, every echo stretches further, and every sleepless night, the dim lights of her own room begin to burn ever brighter.

She stopped looking in the mirror about a week ago...if it had been that long. She can’t quite keep track of the flow of time without much sleep, and she knows that each passing day, her unkempt hair and dark eyes will only worsen. She did what she needed to do to stay presentable, of course, but there were other, more important things on her mind.

Yes, there were only two things that she had the energy to think of these past few weeks, and one of them had been winning the war. Winning the war was always on her mind. Paperwork, battles, all of the necessary preparations were always there, always will be there. The second were the winter rumors…which she did not wish to speak of presently.

There are some evenings where Edelgard reflects, and she wonders if she will ever see another peaceful day in her life…but she convinces herself time and time again that she took the right steps to a better tomorrow, even if she herself would not be able to see the sun rise on that new day.

She removes her crown, gently placing it on a cushion by her desk, letting her hair come undone. She eyes the tiny tea table at the corner of her room, and sits there thoughtlessly, wordlessly.

The teacup that sat by her side was her favorite—a plain cup with small flowers on its edges. She has treasured it these four years, just in case its original owner ever returned to claim it.

She takes a sip. There was still a bit of lukewarm bergamot left from last night’s teatime. She’s got some more left in the teapot, just enough for her and—

Two knocks on the door bring Edelgard back to earth.

“Who goes there?” asks Edelgard, but she knows the answer already simply by the rough knock on the door.

“It is I, Lady Edelgard,” Hubert enters, caring little for any of Edelgard’s protests tonight…if there had been any.

“What business brings you here so late at night, Hubert?” she turns to him, concerned, and he is nearly taken aback by her emaciated, pale countenance, “Has the Kingdom made any significant advances?”

“Fortunately, it is not such an urgent matter,” Hubert closes the door behind him, “I have, however, been privy to some…distasteful rumors.”

“You needn’t say anymore,” Edelgard replies, her blank expression unchanging, “I have heard them all. They cannot hide their gossip from us.”

“While I am not in a position to give you any orders, Your Majesty, I hope you will permit me just this one.”

“And that is?”

“You must rest. The burdens of an emperor are taxing indeed, but I cannot stand by while our best and brightest speak their worries for you in my presence. While I realize this time of year is certainly…taxing on your constitution, it falls upon me to remind you that you are our greatest asset, and you must know that were the professor here—”

“…Do you see her too, Hubert?”

“I do not, my lady.”

“Then I ask that you leave us be.”

“My lady, the professor is not—”

“_Leave us, _Hubert,” Edelgard’s eyes grow sharper and colder than even Hubert has ever seen them, “I will not say it again.”

Hubert bows, apologizing for his insolence. As he would. And then the room is silent again. Edelgard gazes into her teacup and sees a fraction of her pallid façade in the tea’s reflection. The mere sight of herself is disgusting. She is far more than the exhausted frame of an emperor…yet she cannot seem to leave her own head this year. There are too many possibilities left undone, and too many words left unsaid.

_“He is only worried for you. As are the rest of your companions,” _says the false presence at the other side of the table. Edelgard sees her—knows she is there—but refuses to speak.

_“You have no words for me today?” _Byleth frowns ever so slightly, _“It is all right. I’ve caused you a great deal of trouble.”_

“No, Professor, you have done no such thing,” Edelgard pleads with no one, “But I wish to fuel the flames of these rumors no longer. I know you would not want to return to find me a mad emperor.”

_“I understand. Then I’ll go.”_

“No, you mustn’t—!”

Edelgard reaches out across the tea table, to what she believes is Byleth’s hand…but she _feels _it there, the warmth of the other woman’s battle-scarred hands.

_“Then I’ll stay, if you’ll have me.”_

“Yes…yes, please stay,” Edelgard nods in desperation, “Your hands…why do they feel so real?”

_“They are no less real than I am, Edelgard,” _Byleth sighs, her voice as comforting and monotone as it ever was, “_You should rest.” _

“I can’t,” the young emperor shakes her head, “Not yet. I don’t want you to disappear just yet.”

_“I can’t stay here knowing what I’ve done to you.”_

“That is not your choice to make. Not now,” Edelgard stands up a moment, filling her empty teacup and the teacup at the other side of the table with tepid tea. The other cup, collecting dust until recently, was Edelgard’s old one…but she never cared to use it after finding Byleth’s cup in her old room.

_“Then we can talk for a little while, as we have been,” _Byleth tells her, _“But you’ve got to promise me that this will be our last tea together.”_

“Then promise me that we’ll meet again.”

_“I can make no such promises, Edelgard.”_

“…Why not?”

_“You know why.” _

Byleth never touches Edelgard’s teacup, nor drinks a drop of the old tea, but she continues to stare, bright blue eyes fixed on the emperor’s. There is a bit of a pause as Edelgard wonders what she should speak to her professor about—she forgets what they spoke of last night, or the night before, but she knows in the end, it doesn’t matter. Byleth will listen. Byleth always listens.

“Professor,” Edelgard’s face burns as she looks away, “I’m so glad you’re here.”

_“I’m glad, too,” _Byleth nods, _“We’ve had such fun, haven’t we?”_

“Yes, it is just like old times! As long as you’re here, I’ll never have to have another nightmare…”

_“Is that why I’m here?” _asked the professor, _“Is that why you haven’t been sleeping?” _

“This time of year, they’re far worse, I’m afraid. So I thought, perhaps--”

_“Perhaps if you had company to talk to about your nightmares again, you’d forget about them this year?” _

“Yes, that’s exactly it!” Edelgard beams, “You always seem to figure out what I’m planning, Professor.”

_“Because I’m you,” _the shadow replies, _“Because I’m your Byleth.” _

Edelgard tightens her grip on the hand she believed she was holding, the simple words echoing in her head, bringing her joy and sorrow and pain. She doesn’t know how to answer, but Byleth does that for her, too:

_“I don’t want to admit it, either,” _she begins,_ “But I’m glad you have the strength to hear it.”_

“If you just came home, I wouldn’t have to—I wouldn’t be like this.”

_“Is this home?” _asks Byleth, expressionless,_ “Is the monastery home?”_

“It will always be your home,” Edelgard tells her, “as long as I am here.”

She sips at her tea, while Byleth’s image becomes blurred. Edelgard nearly drops her cup, terrified.

“Some nights, I can barely remember what you looked like,” she says, drawing back her hand, “But I wish that tonight, of all nights, I could remember you.”

_“If I came home, would you be happy? What would you do?”_

“There is much I would do… Or maybe I would do nothing. I’ve imagined our reunion so many times, I…I don’t know which way would be the right way anymore.”

Edelgard doesn’t notice the tears that blur Byleth’s image further, until the latter points them out.

_“I thought you didn’t cry. Why are you crying?”_

“…This is it, isn’t it?”

_“It is. I’ll leave soon.”_

“But I still need to tell you—”

_“What you’d do if I ever came back.”_

“I don’t know anymore.”

_“Yes you do. You can tell me here, so you don’t have to tell me when I come home. So you won’t get hurt.”_

“This…this isn’t like you, Professor.”

_“Because I was never the Professor to begin with. I’m your Byleth.”_

Edelgard tries harder to imagine Byleth’s features and voice, but four years of war have worn away at the empress’s memory, torn up the images and girlish daydreams. She does not realize she has stood up, teacup clutched in her hands, staring at a hazy image of someone long gone, tears still streaming down her face as she realizes who she is forgetting.

_“All of your tears have been for me,” _Byleth stands up, as well, _“Why do you shed tears for me? What would you say if I ever came back?”_

“Please,” Edelgard begs the shadow, “I don’t want to say it.”

_“Then tell her for me, won’t you?”_ Byleth’s colors fade, and she begins to walk towards Edelgard,_ “If you ever get the chance to see her—to see me again. I would have liked to hear you say it.”_

Byleth’s faded figure wraps herself around Edelgard, but the warmth of her hands are gone, and even though they gently caress the emperor’s face, there is no happiness to be had in it, no emotion left in this figure that used to be someone else.

_“You always regretted not telling me your old nickname, didn’t you? You thought it would bring us together.”_

“Because it was precious to me…_you _were precious to me!”

_“…Did you love me, El?”_

Edelgard lobs her teacup at the remains of Byleth, and in all but a moment, she disappears completely, the ceramic shattering into pieces as it flies into the doorway, the hallucination gone for good.

She doesn’t know who Byleth is anymore. It’s been too long. Her chest tightens and though she feels she is breathing, her vision is fading and the room is spinning.

She collapses on the ground, sobbing quietly so no more echoes ring out in the monastery tonight. She is sure Hubert will be here soon to investigate the crash, and she will order Hubert to speak of this to no one, to clean up the mess. The emperor does not cry. The emperor has no weaknesses.

"I loved you,” she covers her eyes and sobs, and that is the last thing she remembers before she drifts off into a long, peaceful silence.

* * *

The next morning’s briefing begins without Edelgard, but the rest of her friends are relieved to know that she is sound asleep.


End file.
